Human After All
by Nenalata
Summary: There are nasty stories about elven temptresses who lure innocent human children away from their homes, leaving the children forever damaged. Alistair is an innocent Chantry boy. Lyna is a prideful Dalish elf. Fairytales, meet reality.


Like an idiot, Alistair didn't even realize to whom he was speaking to when he met Lyna. What's another elf running around Ostagar? Funny tattoos, armor, weapons, a steely glare…Nope, didn't even think about the possibility that maybe this was the new Dalish recruit. So he told his little joke and nearly kicked himself when she looked distinctly unamused and told him flatly,

_"You are a very strange human."_

No mere servant would say that, of that Alistair was sure, so he sighed and tried to think about how to fix this suddenly awkward situation.

_"You know, you're not the first to tell me that."_

And for some reason, that was how their little romance got started.

* * *

Lyna was sharp, witty, not a stranger to battle, and adopted the role of leader with ease, though it surely was a stressful task to manage. She always seemed to appreciate it whenever he helped out however he could, whether help came in form of cooking meals, setting up tents, or handing her poultices when she needed them. She was a strong woman, however, and didn't like to ask for help, so it fell upon Alistair to pick up on small details that told him whenever she might require assistance.

Alistair had always fallen for dominant women. By nature, he was a romantic, and every small touch of his that lit her face red, if briefly, counted as a victory in Winning Her Heart. He made a mental tally of every blush, every stammer of words, every more-than-friendly compliment he awarded her.

His list wasn't very long. Winning Lyna's heart wouldn't be easy.

It was one night while he was alone on last watch with the dog that he finally asked himself what it was about the woman that made him so _determined_. While Dog snorted disdainfully at the daydreaming man and stomped off to make the rounds like he was supposed to, Alistair plopped himself on the ground and thought about this. She was intelligent, and certainly very attractive. Then again, he'd always thought that about elves. Short, lithe, pointy ears…That probably wasn't the real reason. He supposed his attraction became apparent to him when she returned to him his mother's amulet.

"I believe it is very important for people to have bits of their ancestry," she'd told him seriously. "How else will you honor your ancestors if you don't even have anything to remember them by?"

Or he could just really want his mother's necklace, but her thoughts sounded nicer. "I…thank you," he stammered, clutching the jewelry like it was the only thing that connected him to life. "Yes. Exactly. You have no idea what this means to me."

Lyna shrugged, holding up her hand. A ring sparkled on her middle finger. "I do, somewhat. This was my father's. I'd known nothing about him a few weeks before meeting you, and receiving this ring was like bringing my father back from the dead." Creepy, but again, a nice thought behind it.

And then she smiled at him, so widely that her canines showed—in a friendly way, of course. Her face lit up in that one instant, and the effect rose his body heat to at least ten degrees beyond its normal temperature. She turned around with a pat to his splintmail shoulder guards and left, leaving him clutching that stupid cheap necklace, stammering like the love-struck idiot he was.

Lyna had given him more than that special gift, he realized, and he pulled out a rather worn-looking rose from his bag thoughtfully. Shouldn't he return the favor?

* * *

"Obviously, that is your new weapon of choice," Lyna deadpanned in answer to his fairly stupid question.

Alistair grinned, only half-sure she was joking. "You are correct, my dear lady! Feel my thorny wrath, darkspawn! I shall overpower you with my rosy scent! I shall be invincible!" He forced an evil laugh beyond his quaking nerves, and mentally relaxed when she grinned in response. "Or," he continued, "it could just be a rose."

Off went the grin, on went a frown. "That disappoints me. I would be much happier had you come to inform me that tomorrow you would be charging into battle with naught but a flower in your hand."

This time, Alistair had no idea of how serious she was. He decided to ignore her comment and forge ahead anyway. "I picked it in Lothering…" He went on to babble about how he'd acquired the rose and its spiritual value, finishing with "I think the same thing when I look at you." Damn his heartbeat! Surely, scary temptress that she was, she could sense his racing heart and the alarm bells would be ringing in her head: "This man has no idea what he is doing! Target and destroy!"

She only raised an eyebrow. "You think of me as a gentle flower?" Uh-oh. Dalish Warrior Pride emerging was always bad. Alistair's blood turned to ice (so why was his heart still running laps?) and he tried to make some cover-up, his words slipping over each other like each was excited to reach Lyna's ears first.

Lyna stopped him with an imperious flick of her hand. "I am not offended, Alistair. Courtship rituals are not completely foreign to me, and so I understand that you are attempting to pay me a compliment." Alistair wilted like the sad little flower in his fist. "But I appreciate the thought, and the gift."

She awarded him one of those mind-blowing smiles before plucking the dead plant from his grasp and pecking him on the cheek. Alistair stood there quite a long time after she'd departed, remembering the feel of her lips on his skin.

* * *

Alistair had never experienced jealousy before, but he was quite able to identify the emotion he felt when he heard Zevran ask the object of his affections if she would like a massage as such. His hormones did a Manly Pride Victory Dance when Lyna immediately refused.

"Are you sure, my Warden? You simply look so tense…"

"I am not tense," she snapped. "I never get tense! I am strong; I never get tense!" Realizing her rants made her sound tense, she sat down on the ground and attempted to position her limbs in a leisurely fashion. It looked very forced.

"Just because you are strong does not mean you are impervious to stress and hardships, Lyna."

"Of course I am. Ever since Tamlen…" the way Zevran didn't ask questions about this name gave Alistair the sinking feeling that this subject was one the two elves had shared; one that Alistair had not been privy to. "Ever since Tamlen, I've come to realize that I cannot make mistakes and be weak. I must always be assertive and…and leader-like and strong. I _must_ be strong, Zevran. I will be like the powerful oak tree that towers over all in the forest."

"When the wind blows fiercely, the oak tree will fall because it refused to bend, while the cattails will still remain," Zevran said sagely.

"That is a Fereldan expression. You learn fast."

"The Antivan equivalent is much dirtier," he said with a chuckle. There was quiet for a few moments before Lyna spoke again.

"I will be the best oak tree, then."

"If you truly wish to be the 'ideal oak tree', Warden, then you will fall all the harder."

"I don't need _you _lecturing me, Zevran." Just as Alistair decided to make his presence known, she stood up and marched angrily to her tent.

* * *

"So, all this time we've been traveling together…" Alistair blurted out one evening at camp. Lyna jumped a bit at first—he had, after all, just stalked right behind her and started speaking—but waited for him to finish with, "Will you miss it, when it's over?"

"Miss the war?" she teased him, "Or miss _you_?"

You never could tell when the woman was teasing, Alistair cursed to himself. That tattoo obscured her entire face, so even if she _didn't _make her jokes with a straight face, it would be hard to read her expression. "I know we haven't known each other long," he began slowly, "but I've come to care for you a great deal."

That blasted smile, turning his knees to jelly. Before he met her, he'd thought of himself as a strong man. "The feeling is mutual, Alistair."

And with those five or six or _something_ words—he couldn't tell, he was so elated—he somehow found himself spilling his soul to her, ranting about love and feelings and being raised by the Chantry and by the way, he was in love with her.

Chillingly, she only blinked. "Did this come around because I asked you last night about your sex life?"

Whoa, he didn't know it was possible to suck in so much air in less than a nanosecond. "What?" he wheezed after the appalled gasp had wreaked havoc, "No, of course not! I mean, not that you're—no! No, Lyna. I'm serious."

Her expression didn't change, except for the lifting of her eyebrows. "What, you think I could ever love a human man?"

Ouch. That was his fellow Warden. Sharp and as well-aimed as the arrows she fought with. "I don't know. I sure hope so."

More smiles. Alistair didn't think he could take another one. "Well, then, thank you, Alistair. I care for you a great deal as well."

Relief, relief, relief! Sweet relief! It almost seemed too good to be true. Sure, in his fantasies, she'd cried her love to him and to the rest of the party and leapt into his arms for a kiss, but such a thing was horribly unrealistic where Lyna Mahariel was concerned. But, drunk on happiness, he felt as if he should at least get part of his fantasy, so he swooped down to plant a kiss on her lips. Almost as suddenly, he pulled back, worried. "That…that wasn't too soon, was it?"

Lyna only smiled—damn her!—and pulled him down again.

* * *

The next day, at the Dalish camp they'd stumbled upon, Alistair jealously glared at all the pretty elven boys who checked his lover out as she passed. Hearing her jabber in a language he didn't understand and buy weapons that he wasn't used to and see her comfortably slip into seemingly impractical Dalish armor was the time that Alistair should have realized that he had no idea who this woman was. Unfortunately, he was too focused on staring down the male elven population to pay heed.

* * *

"Alistair!"

"Yes, my love?"

"Care to join me in my tent?"

And that was how Alistair lost his virginity. At the time, he couldn't help but think of how _awkward_ a proposition that was, but a few moments later all he could think of was how wonderful any event leading to this was, and how lucky he was to be with this woman.

Afterwards was just as awkward as the before.

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"It just feels like we should…_go _somewhere. I don't know."

"We have a Blight to stop."

"Oh. Yeah. Good point. Uh. Well! Have I told you I love you yet?"

"Several times."

"Well, it wouldn't kill you to hear it again, would it?"

"No, but _I _might kill _you_."

"Mood-spoiler."

* * *

The next Afterwards was also awkward.

"My adoptive mother would kill me if she knew I was with a shem."

"But if she found out you were with lovable old Alistair?"

"She would tell me that I have bad taste."

"Ouch. Do _you_ feel that way?"

"We're in bed together right now, aren't we?"

"Well, look at that. I suppose we are."

"Though I do believe that, someday, I will marry another elf."

"…Ah."

"You're good in bed, by the way. For someone raised by the Chantry."

"Ah. Oh. You have experience in Chantry-raised men as bed partners?"

"No, but I had Tamlen."

"Isn't it some form of proper relationship etiquette not to talk about past lovers?"

"He was my best friend. You don't know who Tamlen is, do you?"

"No, I can't say I do."

"Oh, okay, then. Good night, Alistair."

"…Good night, Lyna."

Alistair still loved her, though.

A few nights later, he met Tamlen. Lyna wouldn't come to bed with him after that.

* * *

The delicate glass bubble Alistair had built to shield himself from reality finally broke the day of the Landsmeet. The day started out quite well, actually, most notably with Loghain's death.

Lyna had nocked an arrow and was prepared for the killing shot when Riordan halted her, asking her to spare the horrible man's life and make him a _Grey Warden_, of all things. There was a terrible, long moment where it seemed like Lyna was actually considering.

"I think you, Alistair and I can defeat the archdemon on our own," she said at last, her tone ice. "I doubt another shem could raise our chances." She released the arrow, and Loghain's death was almost too quick for Alistair's liking.

And it was barely ten minutes later that Alistair found himself king and engaged to his old enemy's daughter.

"_How could you do this to me?_"

Lyna glanced up, confused. "I just turned your human politics around for the better. I thought I was helping you."

"_I thought you loved me!_"

"Anora will love you, too. You're a very charming man."

Rage, rage, blind rage. Alistair's fists were shaking, and he thought he might actually be seeing red. "You—I—we—"

"I am rather fond of pronouns myself, Alistair. I use them to help me form coherent sentences."

Alistair could only stare at this woman whom he'd professed love to, humiliated himself for, injured himself for, gave up _every part of himself for_…And she was only looking back at him, confusion slightly marring her features. How could she honestly think she was doing something _good_?

"You…you understand what this means, don't you? I won't be able to see you anymore! You're just throwing away everything we had? And—" oh, yeah, more betrayal, "You promised me that you wouldn't make me king!"

Lyna blinked. "I never said that. Why would I say something so silly?"

This had to be a nightmare. Icy daggers were slowly piercing Alistair's heart. "You…you never loved me, did you?"

The pitying look Lyna gave him was probably the worst thing he'd ever seen. "Alistair," she said slowly, "you are a human. I care for you deeply, but it is against my culture and common sense to _love_ a human."

"Love isn't something you just _control_!" Because Maker knows I wish that, at this moment, I could just shut my love for you off. "It just _happens_!"

"Oh. Well, in that case, Alistair, it didn't 'happen' for me."

The condemning words. Alistair didn't even hear the door slam as he raced out of it.

* * *

The Archdemon was killed. The Denerim alienage was saved. And somewhere along the way, Lyna still managed to convince him sleep with Morrigan.

Damned woman.

He hadn't seen the aforementioned damn woman in quite a few months, actually, and he was not looking forward to meeting her this afternoon. Anora wasn't a terrible wife, it was true, but she was no Lyna Mahariel. For one thing, she wasn't quite as short. And she didn't play with his emotions (he thought).

King Alistair didn't even know how Arl Eamon had managed to track Lyna down, anyway. At the coronation, she'd plainly said that she would go back to her clan, and no one had heard from her since. The hours in the day went by too quickly for Alistair's liking, and it was with dread that he waited for his guest on the palace steps.

He felt betrayed all over again when the carriage rolled up and he saw a male elven face next to the female one he knew so well peek out of the window. Even worse was when Lyna happily greeted him and just as happily introduced him to her new husband.

Alistair turned around in the middle of the introductions and stormed back to the royal chambers to sulk in an attempted dignified fashion. He could hear Anora angrily knocking on the door, polite even in her fury as she asked him to "please attend to our esteemed guests!"

The esteemed guests could attend themselves. Alistair couldn't bear to be in the same room as them, childish as it was. After all, as he had been so bitterly reminded not five months ago, he was only human.

**AN: I hate this pairing.**


End file.
